Collecting
by Exxal
Summary: "We have all been scientists, at one point or another in our lives." Carlos doesn't understand why those words keep haunting him.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, everyone! This first chapter is very short because it's basically just an introduction to the story. The second chapter will be up soon, and that's where things really start to happen. Stay tuned!

Chapter One

"Well, we have all been scientists, at one point or another in our lives."

Carlos, listening to the radio in his lab, frowned at that ominous, yet nonsensical, comment. What a strange thing to say, he thought, feeling slightly troubled. He looked back down at his work, still frowning, but then he was distracted by a sudden breakthrough. By the time the experiment was over, Carlos had forgotten all about the comment. He turned off the radio without a second thought and left the lab, whistling, to make himself a cup of coffee.

xxx

A week later, Carlos found himself thinking about those words again, and he shook his head and sighed. He knew all about Cecil and his unusual radio show, now, so he simply dismissed the comment as being just another one of the weird things Cecil said. Carlos had so much else to think about, (Night Vale seemed to be a breeding ground for the incredible and impossible), and it was easy to turn his mind over to other, more important matters.

xxx

Months passed, and Carlos couldn't understand why that meaningless comment wouldn't leave his mind. "We have all been scientists, at one point or another." He would wake up in the middle of the night to Cecil's voice murmuring those words in his head. It made no sense to Carlos why he couldn't just let it go; of all the things to dwell on, it seemed so trivial.

But Carlos couldn't help it. Almost every night, he found himself lying in bed, wide-awake and staring into the darkness, wondering for hours what could Cecil have possibly meant, and if he had even meant anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Why did she look so familiar?

Carlos gave up trying to take notes on the samples under his microscope, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He'd met with the Mayor of Night Vale, Pamela Winchell, just a few hours ago for the first time, and ever since then, he'd had the strangest feeling that he'd seen her somewhere before.

He'd mentioned this to the Mayor, but she'd been quite certain they had never met. Carlos had to admit that it did seem very unlikely. Even though he'd been in town for over a year, Mayor Winchell kept herself hidden away from the rest of the town, so there was no chance he'd seen her on the street, or in a shop. And Cecil had told him that the Mayor never, _ever_ left Night Vale, so it wasn't like Carlos could have seen her before he came to town, either.

But he just couldn't get the idea out of his head.

Maybe it was just her name? That would make much more sense, Carlos decided. If he knew someone else named Pamela Winchell, it could easily explain why he felt like he knew the Mayor.

With a sigh, Carlos reluctantly stood up and walked over to the computer in the corner of the room. He knew he would never get anything done until he'd at least tried to figure this out, so he decided he'd do a quick internet search and then get back to work. The chair squeaked as he sat down, and he turned on the monitor, waiting patiently as it woke up. When the locked start-up screen appeared, Carlos typed in his password, then he went to a search engine and typed in the name: Pamela Winchell.

Carlos hesitated, his finger hovering over the enter key. This felt wrong; like he was invading the Mayor's privacy, or something. Carlos took a deep breath and reminded himself that he wasn't actually looking for the Mayor, but for someone else named Pamela Winchell that he might know. A well-known author, perhaps, or maybe a teacher at his old high school. He pushed aside his guilt and hit enter.

Carlos felt his heart stop.

The first search result was a picture. The woman in it had her hair pulled back, and she was wearing glasses and a white lab coat, but it was definitely the Mayor. And Carlos knew why she had looked so familiar to him: he had seen this picture before, in one of his college textbooks.

Carlos swallowed thickly, and his palms began to sweat as he opened the article attached to the picture. His eyes flickered across the screen, picking up only the important things and skipping over the rest.

_Pamela Winchell, 43._

_World-renowned seismologist._

_Responsible for her extensive and groundbreaking research on the San Andreas fault._

_Vanished during a research project in Southern California._

_Reported missing._

_Never found._

Carlos closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Impossible. It had to be some kind of mistake. He forced his eyes open and made himself read the article again, then he stared at the picture of the woman who was clearly Mayor Winchell. This couldn't be real.

The date on the article caught Carlos's eye, and he did a double-take, even though he knew he'd seen it correctly the first time.

_May, 2 1972._

Carlos covered his face with his hands. There was no way that Mayor Pamela Winchell could look exactly the same as she did in a picture from over forty years ago. He had to be wrong; it simply couldn't be the same person.

But then Carlos heard Cecil's voice in his head, whispering, pleading:

"We have all been scientists, at one point or another."

Carlos looked up and shivered, feeling like he'd been doused in icy-cold water. He lunged for the computer, frantically typing into the search engine: Josie; Scientist.

When the results came up, Carlos scrolled wildly, looking for that familiar, wrinkled face. He went through almost ten pages of results, but then, sure enough, Carlos found a picture, (a portrait, actually), of old woman Josie, wearing an old-fashioned dress and standing next to a telescope.

_Josephine Harris, 67._

_One of the first notable female Astronomers._

_Controversial theories about the presence of water on the planet Mars._

_Vanished while investigating a report of unusual lights in the sky over the area of Georgia now known as Gwinnett._

_Reported missing._

_Never found._

Carlos's eyes locked onto the date.

_August 29__th__, 1896._

Again, his fingers flew across the keyboard: Rico; Scientist.

_Ricardo Alvarez, 55._

_Brilliant chemist._

_Top of his class, graduated with honors._

_Vanished on his way to a conference in Minnesota._

_Reported missing._

_Never found._

_January 30__th__, 1979._

Carlos couldn't stop, and he couldn't slow down. He searched for the names of every person in Night Vale that he could remember. Telly the barber was actually a genealogist named Telson Sankowski. Steve Carlsberg was a biologist. Barton Donovan and Franklin Wilson were archeologists.

_Vanished._

_Reported missing._

_Never found. _

Wayne Tyler...Franklin Wilson...Diane Creighton...Wilson Brown...Becky Canterbury...Waynetta Barnett...

All of them were scientists, and all of them had gone missing.

And all of them were _here._

Carlos sat back in his chair, stunned. He stayed like that for a long time, but then he looked slowly down at the keyboard, and his hands began to shake.

"We have all been scientists, at one point or another."

Cecil's voice in his mind was sad and so very quiet.

Carlos reached forward typed out one final name:

Cecil Baldwin.

He found the picture on the forth page of the search results. Even though it was gritty and black-and-white, the sight of Cecil smiling brightly at him from the computer screen, wearing a lab coat and looking like the happiest person in the world, made Carlos's insides twist into knots.

It was a while before he could bring himself to open the article, but when he finally did, he felt like he was going to be sick.

_Cecil Baldwin, 29._

_A promising young biologist, specializing in environmental issues. Cecil Baldwin vanished on his way to investigate possible destruction of Florida wetlands. He was reported missing, but was never found._

The article was so short that Carlos read the whole thing, then he scrolled back to the top of the screen to look at the date.

_November 4th, 1936._

Carlos didn't know how long he stared with haunted eyes at the old, gritty picture of Cecil, then he finally turned off the monitor and got up from the desk, willing his trembling legs not to give out.

Why?

Carlos's heart was pounding, and he was panting for air.

Why had all these scientists been brought here? Why had they forgotten everything?

Carlos stumbled towards the stairs. He needed to get outside; he felt like he was being smothered.

Why hadn't any of them aged?

The doorknob slipped from Carlos's grasp a few times before he finally managed to get it to turn, and he stepped out of the lab into the crippling heat and blinding sunlight. He desperately gulped at the dry, hot air, and felt it burning inside his lungs.

Why didn't any of them _remember?_

Carlos was suddenly running. He raced through streets of Night Vale, fear pulsing through his veins like electricity. Everyone here wasn't who they thought they were, and Carlos was terrified.

He didn't stop until he reached the radio station.


End file.
